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Paul Turner: The pie that divides us

Just American Desserts pumpkin pie. Colin Mulvany/THE SPOKESMAN-REVIEW (Colin Mulvany / The Spokesman-Review)

Spokane is torn in two, but it is not politics that divides us.

Well, not just that.

It’s pumpkin pie.

For many right-thinking people, it is a fill-your-face seasonal treat to be savored and adored. Homemade or loaded into your cart at Costco, it is an autumnal delight just made for second and third helpings.

For others, the sadly misguided dessert snobs among us, it is vile mush. It is a jiggly concoction that is one part befouled gourd fruit and one part brownish ooze served up on a soggy crust and topped with holiday recriminations.

OK, maybe I’m jumping the gun a little bit here. Pumpkin pie season does not begin in earnest until next month. But for some of us, round about Halloween is when we start thinking: “You know, I wouldn’t mind a wedge of pumpkin pie approximately the size of the Bermuda Triangle.”

Bring some right here.

Of course, there’s nothing that says you absolutely have to like pumpkin pie. I mean, it’s not required of all Inland Northwest residents.

But here’s the thing. Many of those who give it a thumbs-down don’t just shrug their shoulders about pumpkin pie. We’re not talking about ambivalence here.

They loathe it. They cannot tolerate it. They don’t like being in the same room with it.

Sounds crazy, I know. But to each, his own.

Pumpkin pie-haters aren’t necessarily bad people. They just have texture issues – serious texture issues.

To them, stuffing one’s mouth with a trembling glop of pumpkin pie is like taking a big bite of soil-flavored goo. To them, it’s like eating gelatinous compost.

Spokane’s PP-haters are not alone. Apparently the British typically look askance at pumpkin pie.

Is that why our forefathers sent those redcoat eel eaters packing back in the 1700s? Just asking.

But if you find yourself enjoying a slice of this fall delicacy while dining at a table with a known PP-hater, feel free to fix that benighted person with a patriotic gaze and quietly intone “Taxation without representation.”

Then shovel into your welcoming mouth a heaping forkful of freedom-celebrating American dessert fare.

But I digress.

Marriages have been known to survive disagreement about the charms of pumpkin pie. Though I suspect this contentious issue probably has come up in Spokane couples counseling.

“I love her. But she has an unreasonable thing about pumpkin pie, doctor. She won’t even try it. She makes pre-regurgitation urping sounds at the mere mention of it. She makes pained gonna-throw-up faces. And she insists the kids and I go out to the garage if we want to have some. Even when it’s below freezing. Banished from our own home!”

OK, not all pumpkin pie schisms are quite that extreme.

Some disputes stem from loyalty to different kinds of pumpkin pie. If you grew up enjoying creamy, super-sweet versions, you might turn your nose up when served a sturdy slice of sugar-free pie that lets you savor the full, rich flavor of the, uh, vegetable matter.

If your mom made pies generously spiced with cinnamon, you might long for a similar style decades later. Some like it hot, some don’t. And so on.

Usually though, disputes over pumpkin pie are not about recipe details or whether to top it with whipped cream. As a general rule, those who crave it enjoy most renditions. And those for whom pumpkin pie seems like something that had already been digested and is now being re-served, well, there’s always pecan or mince.

Still, pumpkin pie is a gift to those of us on both sides of the love it or leave it fence.

Those who relish this flavor of fall don’t really have to explain why we embrace it. We happily gobble up the taste and the tradition.

But even those who purport to detest pumpkin pie have to admit it is a special kind of gift, if they are willing to be honest.

The truth is, much as many of us love it, this dessert is almost bland. Or it can be. We’re not talking about lutefisk or kimchi here.

And yet, it is distinctive enough to give culinary naysayers a virtually blank canvas onto which they can paint their colorful oral denunciations.

Say what you will, disliking pumpkin pie is sort of a gift. It’s an opportunity to be creative in describing the many and various ways you abhor it.

If you have had your share of hot meals in the company of others, you’ve probably heard it all.

“Pumpkin pie tastes like slimy orange mud.”

“No thanks, I’d rather have a bowl of dirt.”

“Pumpkin pie tastes like a gastro-intestinal injury.”

“There’s not enough vanilla ice cream in Spokane to make that even remotely palatable.”

Et cetera.

But that just leaves more for those of us who enjoy it.

Speaking as someone who does, all I can say is “Thanks.”

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